Use
by HelenaLevi
Summary: Steelshipping (Keith x Bakura). Oneshot. Keith had given up at last, his willpower drained. Although the white-haired demon would have him only as a pawn, it was better than wasting away and feeling sorry for himself.


He found him in a warehouse, practically rotting alive. Last he'd seen of the man, he'd been mind-controlled; and the times before that as a desperate man clinging to desperate hope for revenge. Blonde hair had become dirtier, handsome stubble grown into an unkempt beard. He was still wearing tattered remnants of a black cloak over a red shirt and pants that likely used to be white. Stuffed in the pocket of those pants was an American flag- no longer had he the pride to wear it, for now he would only disgrace it.

The demon knelt before him, taking a moment to determine whether or not the man was even alive- and if so, whether or not he was conscious. Experimentally, he poked the man- this caused him to jerk awake, like an old machine that was falling apart but just barely able to use what energy was left within it.

Dead blue eyes opened and tried to scan the demon, but he felt blind. He could see him just fine but his brain lacked the necessary energy to process it. For a moment, he tried to scrape up what was left of his arrogant front and pull himself into a more dignified position than slumped against a wall, but his muscles failed him and he slid back down. Afterwards the man looked shamefully away.

"There isn't much left of you, is there?" the demon asked, tilting his head to the side. "To think your soul might have once been powerful."

The man didn't reply. His face just barely twisted into the vague remnants of a frown- like a zombie trying to emote. Just several months ago that expression would've curled into a rage-filled snarl, and he would've demanded to know what he was talking about and why he was there. Then again, after what the silver-haired cyclops and the Egyptian tomb keeper had done to him, the only way to fully describe what happened to him was mind-raped. Appropriately, he seemed just as humiliated, just as disgraced, and just as traumatized.

"Hm. You still want to come back, don't you?" a pale hand reached for human flesh, only for a sudden burst of will to make the man smack it away. That answered the demon's question- and the reaction was a smirk. "That's the only thing you can want anymore when you've gotten so low. I can't say I fully grasp it... except perhaps in my most distant memories."

The man frowned a little more successfully. He croaked- "What?"

"Don't concern yourself with it, I stopped caring eons ago. You, on the other hand, are still too human to do that." The word seemed to make the man cringe. "What if I told you I could take that away from you?"

Human eyes finally met those of the demon, and the way he seemed slightly more upright spoke volumes about how good that idea sounded to him. He didn't need to say anything- the other would do all the talking. After all, why force him to say more than necessary in this state? His usefulness was limited. No need to waste it.

He could've picked anyone, really. He could've taken advantage of Marik Ishtar again; perhaps he could've brought back those three worthless goons that once followed the man in front of him. But everyone else still had enough will to say no eventually- even his host was unreliable in this regard. Here, the once-great machine duelist would say yes to anything- whoever or whatever promised him redemption. His use would end when he could no longer move and his heart-shattering illness finally let him go- and that would be when he completely stopped squirming in its grasp.

"Hear me out," the demon said. "If you agree to do as I tell you- and I assure, it'll hardly be me ordering you around- I will share my power. You've felt my abilities already- do you remember?" He paused, to let the rusted gears start moving. "I was the one who freed your mind when the Millennium Rod had caged it. It was by my will that you regained yours..."

The man ran his tongue over his dry lips and tried to speak again. "Y...ou're not... human, are you...?"

"Not anymore. Far from it." The demon chuckled. "Come now, this won't be the first deal with the devil you've made. At least this one you already know is guaranteed to have results."

The task was simple, the demon explained- a body of the his very own. Some duelists centred their deck around his interests- and for the man that was his career before Duel Monsters. Machines were what he understood best. They were predictable and fixable. Reliable. Humans were fickle, and they had opinions of their own. Creating a humanoid body for something that wasn't... not something he'd done before, but it was a better use of his time than sitting around, wishing he was dead. The demon wanted it to look a certain way, to be as invincible as possible. He could do that.

He offered his hand and the man took it. As had been previously stated, this wasn't his first dealing with demons- and there was no light to the end of the tunnel anyway. He might as well have something to do to even suggest that it might even exist.


End file.
